


Thorough the Mirror Darkly

by likecrackingwater (1thetenfootlongscarf2)



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-06-09 07:26:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6895420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1thetenfootlongscarf2/pseuds/likecrackingwater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Turning and turning in the widening gyre. <br/>The falcon cannot hear the falconer; <br/>Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold..."</p><p>- The Second Coming</p><p>They must go back to go forward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not compatible with anything after CA:WS.

**NOW**

* * *

 

 

The place stinks. Tony is leaning on the chilled metal and trying not to get sucked into the darkness. He used to keep it back with other things; drinking, endless nights, Pepper. Now all he had was his will and some hooch Clint found. It would probably make him go blind. That's what he got for following professional liars into the unknown. 

Someone climbed out next to him. One of the professional liars, in the flesh.

"You've been gone for a while."

She looked at him with cool eyes. "Only five hours. That's not so long."

"I see you've dropped the," he gestures to his mouth, "sexy babushka accent."

There might have been a smile in response. Natasha keeps her own counsel. "We all have to fit in." Her hair is pinned up and set but her face is washed clean.

"Yeah, except I have standards and this place is third world. Look!" They watch a rat scurry below them. It is the size of a small dog. Nearby nose is warring, Big Band and jazz and the sounds of a party and the rumble of the trolleys. 

"Where's Steve?"

"Out. Hell if I know what he's up to."

There is a flash of flame then she offers him a cigarette. Tony scowls but takes it. "You know I didn't smoke? Not tobacco, and not ever."

"Just tobacco?" She knew what he used to get him through the day before the suit.

"Yeah. Just tobacco. These things'll kill you."

"So will a bullet. The point is to blend in. You'll stand out if you don't practice."

He waves it, watches the light at the end flicker. "I miss the internet. I miss good movies. Jesus, this place is stone age."

Natasha presses close to him. It's comforting. He can smell something antiseptic. Barton had really taken a shine Vitalis. "You keep saying that."

"When we get back -"

"You keep saying that too."

"Natasha, I am not dying here chocking on a city's worth of coal dust and second-hand smoke." He pauses to take a drag. It caught in his throat and made his eyes water. Tony Stark does not cough.

She laughs at him. To rub it in she blows out a smoke ring. He wants to pull his hand through it. Natasha does it for him, blurs the edges and scatters the pieces.

"Still tinkering with the radios?"

"It pays." The deflation messed with him but he was always good a math. "Steve is doing God knows what but he makes twice what I do."

Natasha shrugs.

"You enjoying playing Mrs. Leave-It-To-Beaver?" He knows he's being mean. The moment to apologize passes too quickly. 

"I don't mind living with Clint." She raises an eyebrow. "Do you know why?"

"Fitting in. I get it. But, listen, is this like a loop or  _A Noise Like Thunder_? What parameters are we working with?"

"No idea."

"Are you curious?"

"No." Natasha rests her chin on her hand. She lets the cigarette dangle. Defeat isn't word they know. Maybe they would learn it here.

* * *

 

**then**

* * *

 

Banner sends the lat and longitude through an encrypted sever. When Natasha tries to trace the mail to him all she finds is a gauntlet of proxies. 

The first call she makes is to Clint.

"I'll be state-side in ten." It's too much information over an unsecured line. She toggles over and taps the mic on her handset twice. 

"I need to meet you here." She doesn't repeat the number. 

"What's there?"

"No idea." She picks at a chip in the counter. She can't remember the last time she cooked something here. After SHEILD imploded she was gone for weeks. The milk had curdled. There was nothing else to clean.

"Need me to pick you up?"

"I meet you there." They never say goodbye.

When they arrive Steve and Sam are waiting. The numbers should have led them to an empty clearing. Clint had checked the sat-pics on the way over. There is a massive white tent pitched a few yards away.

At her expression Steve explains, "Stark brought it. He wants to send a probe in first."

"A probe."

Sam shrugs. "Have you seen it?"

She takes the lead though the flap. 

The ground is packed dirt. In the center is a tear in the air.

Stark is hunched over a tablet. His hair is greasy and he looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. Pepper had left suddenly. Natasha didn't fault her for it. Tony needed to create his own fail-safes. "There's no back."

"What do you mean?"

Clint had pulled a knife as he entered and left it hang casually at his side. He slowly moved around the tear. Natasha could see it blocking his body, the edges the looked like smeared watercolor. "He's right, Nat. There's nothing here."

As she moved past it she saw the edge grow thinner and thinner until it vanished. Sam followed her. Steve was still standing by the door, awry.

"That's not possible. Everything has a back side. What this is -"

"It would only have a back if it was a tear _into_ something. This, my friend, is a tear _through_ something."

"Through what?" Steve asked.

"Who knows? I sent in a ROV. Name's Albert 1." Only Sam grinned. "Come on. First animal in space? Fine. I sent it through about," Stark check his watch, "ten minutes ago. Video was online though the whole thing. We're getting a ten second lag."

Natasha walked over. The video was jerky. It appeared to be in an alley.

"Where is it?" Steve still hadn't moved.

"According to the GPS, right here." There was a topographic map on the monitor. It was their current location. The ROV's internal clock was running two minutes slower then the one on her wrist. Clint noticed as well and frowned.

Sam reached out to touch the edges.

"I wouldn't do that." He didn't sound nervous but she could see the pulse jump in Clint's throat. Sam pulled his hand back slowly.

Steve's phone rang loudly. They didn't jump but Stark cursed under his breath.

Rogers frowned down at the screen. "I'll take this outside."

After he left Sam ambled over. The ROV was still moving along the alley. Despite how bright everything was Natasha could see the moon. "What do you think?"

Sam shrugged.

Stark was looking at another graph. The background was a grid and his eyes followed a thin black line. "It has breathable air."

Clint rolled onto the balls of his feet. The alley still looked empty. There was a haze of artificial light from above the ROV. She knew what he was going to say, because she was the one who helped him pack. "Is it on Earth?"

"Of course it is." Then Stark paused. "Holy shit. Holy shit."

"Is that a 'no' then?" Sam grinned.

"No, I think it might be... hold on." Tony pulled out his phone. He hit speeddial. The volume was so loud they could all hear it ring. A robotic voice answered.

"Hello."

"Hey, S.H. It's Tony. I need to ask you something."

There was a long pause. "Go. Ahead."

He rattled off what sounded like an equation then asked, "What do you think?"

"It. Is. Possible. Remember. It. Is. Not. Just. Time. But. Distance. That. Must. Be. Accounted. For."

"Exactly. Thanks. I owe you one."

"Any. Time."

Sam looked gobsmacked. "Was that -"

"Yes. Get Cap back here."

Natasha looked back at the tear. It looked strange. Something had changed. She tapped Stark's shoulder. "Can you bring the ROV back?"

"Sure."

The video jerked around. There was a tear there as well. She could see the packed ground. It seemed to glow in the darkness.

"Has anyone come through?"

"I can't test for that."

Clint started to flip his knife. "Pity. Don't want more aliens running around."

They all turned when they head the flap move. Steve looked tense. Sam was talking to him quietly. "Hey," he missed casual by a mile. "What time did you get here Tony?"

"About nine thirty."

Steve took an aborted step towards the tear.

Natasha looked him in the eye. There was no room for kindness. "Was he here?"

He just nodded. 

Clint made an finger gun out of his hand and curled the pointer finger twice.  _Who?_

 _W.S._ She replied. He screwed his face up.

"Shit." Sam breathed.

The ROV rolled out of the tear and tipped into its side. Stark ran over. "He's fine! He's fine!"

Rogers was looking at it intently. "No damage?"

"Nothing external. I'll have to open her up to see -" was cut off when Steve squared his shoulders and walked through. Sam looked like he was about to follow but stopped. 

Clint helped Stark get the ROV upright. "We need to send it back through." They were careful not to get too close.

Tony was right. The video was delayed. Steve was standing in the same alley. He looked ghostly in the poor image. "I'm fine." His voice crackled from the speakers.

"That is bull." Sam started to type on the keyboard.  

Natasha waved Barton over. "Is something about it different?"

"I have no idea." One of his hearing aids beeped. He fished out a new battery. As he swapped them he said, "Think we're going after him?"

"I'd rather not."

"Final frontier."

That had never interested her. "Right."

"Will you?"

"If I was asked nicely."

There was a shrill noise from the computers. Sam cursed.

Stark waved his hands. "All good. Albert's just getting out of range." The ROV had been following Steve down the alley. It slowly ground to a halt. Steve never looked back. 

As Sam worked on trying to hail Steve she looked over some of the other equipment Tony brought. It was all shiny and vaguely space-race. Clint was tapping the point of his knife on the table. 

"I can go get him." 

Natasha shook her head. "It's too unknown."

Stark was staring at the tear. "I think its moving."

Natasha walked over. "I don't think so."

Tony pointed. "Something changed. I'm sure of it."

She cocked her head. Perhaps the darkness was lighter then it was before. More of a deep grey. "We should bring the ROV back and see if anything internal broke."

"We can't leave Steve!"

"He knows where that is on his side and he knows we're here."

"Fine. Bring her back!" He called to Sam.

There was a definable change when the ROV rolled back into view. The tear was lighter. "I think the sun is coming up on the other side."

"There is a time dilation."

"Of two minutes." Barton was not impressed.

"We can go and get Steve. Do some recon, come back here and plan on how to proceed."

"Take these." Sam shoved coms into their hands. "I've relayed it though Albert. We should be able to talk to you."

"Roger." Clint finally tucked his knife away. He stepped through first.

 It felt like falling into water for a long time then she was on the other side. The first thing that hit her was the smell. There was a sheen of filth. Nearby was a pile or trash. Clint coughed into his sleeve.

"Christ, that is disgusting."

Natasha set off in the direction Steve went. The ROV whirred behind her. In her ear Tony was talking. "... a soil sample." 

Clint used a knife to pry free a section of brick. It was red underneath the dirt. Overhead the streetlight buzzed. It was very yellow with a large filament. "No sign of Rogers." 

She and Barton crept forward. The ROV stopped at the end of its reach. The alley terminated at a dead end. There were scuff marks. Two sets. Clint whistled though his teeth.

"They went over the wall."

"Send Al back. I'll test the sample. Hold tight."

They watched the ROV rumble away. Clint sat on the ground with legs outstretched. Natasha looked up. There was a lot of light but she could make out a few stars. It wasn't cold but there was a chill. It felt like early April or late September. 

According to her watch thirty minutes pass. Clint caught her eye but she already heard it. There is someone coming towards them. Whoever it is - they're running. 


	2. Chapter 2

NOW

* * *

Clint was home late. He scrubed a hand through his hair, rubbed it over his ear. The sound was muffled. Stark said it was louder here. To Barton everything runs on clunky generators and motors he will never understand. It's not so loud to him. He didn't smoke because he needs both hands free. He used them more then he ever expected to need them.

He knows his speech has slipped, twisted into shapeless things.

Once night he came home and curled into Nat. She held him as he shook. He could feel her humming, the vibrations that drummed her chest. A van had clipped him as he crossed the street. He hadn't heard it.

Next door was a couple that Nat impressed with blini like lace and pelmeni curved like the moon. Clint liked to watch her cook. She was good at making things. When they were alone he would brush out her hair. The man had a hook for a hand. Nat liked to play chess with him and smile like a cat when she won. She always won.

There was a note on the table. Nat liked the pens here. When she wrote in Russian it looked like art. He read it then went next door. He was careful about how hard he knocked. The woman opened it. She had flour in her hair and Clint could smell sweet cheese. Masha didn't say anything, just took his hand and led him inside.

The others were in the kitchen. Nat used a spoon to underline a point as she talked. Leon was nodding. On the table his good hand, the one with fingers, shook and was ignored.

His hands trembled too. Work was always cold and the meat was frozen wood-hard. "I won't be able to draw a bow," he said one night. She smoothed lotion into his skin; rubbed his palms, traced the lines, helped him flex the knots from his knuckles. When she kissed his hands her breath was cool.

Nat cut the medovik with a small knife. She had used one like it during an extraction in Haiti. The night had been bright and the beach reminded him of the moon with grey and white and soft shadows. There was the salt of the air in his mouth.

The cake was light and good. Clint ate it slowly. Masha told them about nursing, the influx of children, the worried parents. Leon flexed his hand as she talked. They had a girl, only four, who was sleeping in the next room in a nest she made in her parent's bed. Nat was teaching her English. Sometimes Barton thought that she was sharing too much, insisting on high school and college and things that weren't possible for poor immigrant children. He was roped into explaining math. His Russian was rusted and the girl's amusement was contagious.

Leon balanced the books for a gambling house. It didn't pay well. Clint did what he could, catching the landlord early and pressing an extra few dollars into his hands.

"I don't understand you, Barton." His eyes were already looking away. Some people acted like Clint was blind or mute. "You're from Iowa. This city'll tear you up good."

"Can I go see her?" When he asked, he always asked, Masha nodded. Clint stood on heavy legs. Tamara Leonovna was very small. Her back was sleep warm when he pressed his hand to it. He counted her breaths. Through her shirt he could feel the tiny bones of her back. He wasn't imaginative, didn't have ideals like Rogers or dreams like Stark, but he wanted to take her from this grim place. Take her somewhere clean and warm and not crouched in despair.

He wasn't gone long but Nat came to get him anyway.

Her fingers were warm on his forearm. She tugged his hand away, pressed hers to his palm to palm. He could feel the flim of dough. "Do you need to go home?"

"No."

They didn't speak English here. It was something to turn over in his mind. There was Dan, the head bucher, who would complain of he spent too long chatting over the counter, the glass like a wall. "I don't know how you understand what they say."

"It's Russian," Barton had protested the first time.

When Nat had stopped by in low heels and her hair covered Dan had beaten him to the till. She had given him that cat grin and Barton almost dropped his knife when she spoke. It was like she had learned English a word at a time. Dan nodded along. Then she pointed to him, to Barton, and asked when he was free.

"Why do you want to know?" Dan had an ugly vein of jealously that he fed with malcontent.

"For his dinner. When he comes home."

She was the one who had gotten them rings, who layed the foundation of their cover, who had a firm handshake and a smile with dimples and used the name Barton for both of them. Clint could feel the ring against his skin now. It was warmed by her.

"I'm alright." He let her draw him back into the kitchen. Leon had tea seeping. It was red and sharp. Masha liked to suck on a suger candy as she drank hers. This was one of the ways they worked in tandem. Nat had found Tamara on the stoop and let her in to do homework inside. Clint had pried Leon away from the bars, had coaxed him home and kept him clear head. He knew what it was like to be trapped in a diseased mind.

They drank the tea. Masha made another pot then turned on the radio. It was a set as big as a dresser. The volume was just slightly outside Clint's range. When the World Service came on Nat would whisper the important news into his ear. Leon cut himself another piece of cake. Clint finished his. It was slightly soggy. The half-hour passed in quiet.

Afterwards they moved closer to the turntable. Nat liked to swing her feet as she listend. When they were alone she would dance. Not ballet, but swing, with fast moves that she would lean into him for. They would go until their hands were slick with sweat and they were breathing hard. He liked the cut of the dresses she wore.

"How is school?" Masha was kind. She worked hard to include them. Barton liked her because she never commented on the oddness; a man from Iowa who went to war and traded his hearing for a girl who learned English from wartime broadcasts. That was the story. Nat liked to tell it to the old women who huddled in front of the Orthodox church. They would watch him walk to work. One of them must have let them borrow the dress. He supposed he would never know who.

"Good. I like it." She really did. At night she would read through _Boy's Life_ and _Science Fiction_. Once she chose "Eldorado".

"I like this one. Do you think they'll like it?"

"I think the kids care more about baseball then Poe." Somehow she found ways to get her classes to read things he would have hated, Joyce and Fitzgerald. He did like Hemmingway though. At least for the drinking and talking and doing nothing. She would read him _Anna Karenina_ in bed.

The old women would frown as he passed. Finally a priest stopped him. He was broad with a massive beard and a thick cross around his neck. Barton had always been wary of church people. He hadn't been in one until he was twenty three, in Vegas and looking for his ex and trouble. It had been converted from a hotel conference room all prefab tan and fake wood. Even being inside made him feel ill. This chuch was different. It was stone and harshly colored stained glass. The size was oppressive. Noises echoed and made him uncomfortable.

"You are married, yes?" The man's voice is oddly normal. Barton expected it to be deep and booming.

"Yes."

"You were not married in this church."

"No."

"In the continent?"

"No, no." This was going to be bad. "By the State."

The priest waived his hand. "That is nothing. It is the consecration before God that matters. Come Monday. I have spoken to your wife."

Barton had only told Leon and Masha. Nat must have taken out an ad. The pews were full but, oddly, he hadn't seen Stark or Rogers. Leon had fumbled the rings into his hand. When Clint kissed her it was a shock. The last time was in Malta, only five months ago and also decades apart.

Rogers was absent in the same a way he was before. Stark would stop by unannounced. He was nosy and depressed. Barton sometimes gave him the bottles Masha would leave at the door. He liked to watch Clint sit at the table and talk to Tamara.

"Math is important," the suitcase he carried everywhere was filled with scraps of radio. In the bottom was Barton's hearing aids. Stark hadn't figured a way to make them run. "Look, isn't this awesome?"

He set a small mouse on the table. It was shiny, articulated, with twitching ears. Tamara abandoned adding and chased it around the floor. Nat was staying late at work. Tony had sandwiches in wax paper. Chopped liver and onions. It was quiet as they chewed. Then he noticed the picture.

"Holy shit, Barton."

The uniform he wore in it was heavly starched and neither of them had looked at the lens. Nat was standing straight but in the loose way she adopted here. Her dress seemed to glow against their faded wallpaper. In the edge of the frame was tucked a picture of Tamara. He knew why Nat liked having her around. They would talk sometimes about their past, the bloody rooms and the madness under the striped tents.

"Is it official?"

"Not in record anywhere. Shouldn't change much." Barton wasn't cut up about lying to anybody. Even a priest.

"Right. Except for the fact this got Natasha into a dress that I bet was never in the cards."

Tamara had cornered the mouse and scooped it into her hands. It shocked her. She was so surprised it took her a moment to cry. Then she threw herself into Clint's lap. Tony gave her a dirty look. Barton ignored him.

"Don't cry. Hey, what'll Nat say if she sees you like this." He wiped her face with a hanky. After she was quiet he pulled the papers over and they read through the problems. She had very good handwriting. His was chicken scratch. He didn't like the pens. They felt too heavy. Nat managed to get him pencils. Sometimes they were colored. Tony kept stealing those.

After the record ran down he and Nat left. Leon had dozed off in his chair. He helped Masha move him to bed. Selfishly he held Tamara as she tucked her husband in. She gave him a knowing look.

"You should ask Natalia." There would never be a good time to tell anyone. It would never be, in any world. He grinned woodenly.

"I might."

The rest of the cake went into her icebox. It was only half ten. The city was thrilling outside the window. Nat had left the window cracked and it was sightly too cold. They kept close as they went to bed. He never wanted this. He had loved her friendship, their closeness, the odd event was just more friendliness. Clint liked curling warm together in the dark. It surprised him when their rings would click against each other.

* * *

then

* * *

It was Tony. His sneakers squeaked on the ground. 

He tugged at his hair. "Listen, listen. This isn't good. And I didn't know. I don't know everything."

"What is it?" Natasha's voice was cold. It started to rain though the heavy fog. 

"It's gone. The tear. We kept sending things through, stretching it like a rubber band. I had to get Al. Something filed in the front axis and then.." he made a snapping sound. "Gone."

Clint caught Nat's eye. 

"What about Wilson?" Clint tried not to flinch as one of his aids beeped alarmingly. Low battery.

"Still where we left him. Give him an hour and he'll call in  the cavalry. We'll be okay."

They stood there in the dim yellow city light.

"So." Natasha looked at the scuffs on the wall above them. "We need to find the fossil."

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**NOW**

* * *

Rogers was kicking off his shoes at the door. The radio was tuned to some Appalachian family band. He might have heard it from the stairs. Clint was leaning by the stove. It was warmer there. Rogers didn't seem surprised to see him there. 

"Let yourself in?" His hat hit the table with a muffled thump. Barton didn't like how relaxed he was. He had never seen Rogers chipper. Tony had, but Barton wasn't going to rat him out.

"Yep." Clint tossed the paper down. "You have anything to do with that?" A few low level knee breakers were tied to the doors of a local firehouse.  

Rogers didn't even look over. "Nah." 

"Stark thinks you've gotten into the mob."

"Nah. I'm pulling in twelve an hour at the docks."

"Really?" Clint was making twice that. "After all you've done? You going to be happy breaking your back for the rest of your life?"

"Stark'll figure something out."

"Seem awful sure of that."

Rogers snorted. "He's the best scientist you've got. He'll get it." Barton thought he knew Rogers because of Coulson and a half century of academic obsession, but the truth was this was an poor, inner-city man with an eighth grade education.  

Tony had branched out to adding machines, telephones; anything with a current he pulled apart and pieced back together.

Clint shook his head. "I don't think  _you_ get it. We're fucked here. The only way we're getting back is if they come to us."

They both took a seat. Rogers didn't offer him a drink. Clint rested his hands on the worn tabletop. "Did you find him?"

"Who?"

"You're pal. Jimmy. We know he's here. Nat's been keeping her ear to the ground but..."

"I thought he would go home." Rogers picked at at chip in the wood. "But he's still out there." He had a cigarette tucked behind his ear. 

"Could he have gone to Germany?"

Rogers shrugged. "Sure, but none of the..." Rogers trailed off. "I could try Dugan. Wouldn't be a good idea to call Jones or Morta but, sure, Dugan would know."

"Know what?"

"If anyone in Hydra ate dust recently."

"Great, and would the fact you somehow crawled out of the ice would never get out." Clint was getting a headache. He rubbed his knuckles. "Could you have done that five months ago?"

Rogers narrowed his eyes. Stark clattered is way out of the bathroom and made his way to the open chair. He was messing with a coin, making it dance over his fingers. "I'm flattered that you think I can rip a hole in time. I've tired something and we should know if it worked by tomorrow."

"Tried what?" Rogers was at turns interested and paranoid. It was exhausting to watch. 

"The classic caper - note in a storage box, to be opened on April 16th, year of our lord twenty sixteen."

"The day after..." Barton rubbed his forehead. "Why not the day before? A month?"

"Because I had no idea what would happen if it I did." Tony slipped the coin away. Clint knew there was a lock-box under his bed. They all had one, except for Rogers who sewed his into the bottom of his mattress. 

"Well, you must not have," Rogers said, "because it didn't."

"Christ." Barton got some water from the sideboard. Stark was doodling what looked like a line of code at the edge of the Journal. Rogers tapped his fingers along with the music. Nat should be here soon. It was almost eight.

Stark nodded to himself. "If it works - I told them how to reopen it. We just need to figure out when and where to be."

"See," Rogers grinned. "Simple." Stark rolled his eyes.

Natasha let herself in. The key was handed to Stark, who tossed it onto the counter. She dropped her bag at the foot of the coat rack. There was a split in the leather. She noticed him looking. "Someone tried to cut it open. I'm fine."

She handed out the bowls. Rogers ate porridge every day  - pounds of it with a noxious mix of salt and fat. Tony complained more then one that meat was only bought on Sundays. Barton tried to bring something by but they were all losing weight. The post-war boom hadn't touched this part of the city yet. Rogers was the only one who didn't seem to mind. A scattering of applause then another song started. Clint knew this one. His brother used to sing it when they mucked out the trailers. Barton gave Tasha his chair and dragged a stool over.

Natasha slipped Tony a cookie. He nodded in thanks, still drawing. "I've sent a message to the future."

"Not a bad idea." Then she turned to Rogers. "How's work?"

"Good."

"This yours?" She was flipping though the newspaper, and sounded more surprised then Clint expected.

"It's mine."

"Oh." She raised an eyebrow but Rogers was looking into his bowl and eating mechanically. "You didn't come yesterday."

"Work ran late."

When she set down her spoon even Stark looked up. "That's not an excuse."

"Sure it is." Rogers had an empty smile.

"I told you to come by -"

"I'm not going to your home. It's not decent." Barton and Stark looked away. It wasn't their fight. "And I told you I wanted a friend. You're not acting like one."

"You're avoiding the issue." Clint took her hand under the table. Her fingers were chapped. He rubbed a thumb over her knuckles. Tony scratched out a line in frustration. 

"I can't remember it." At their looks he gestured down. "Coding is like anything. If you don't use it you forget it. I've forgotten so much by now I doubt I'll be able to print a sheet of paper when we get back."

"Pepper will still love you."

"Maybe," Stark shrugged. "The shareholders won't." 

Rogers took the chance to shove another spoonful into his mouth. He ate like there was still rationing. Did he eat like this back in the future? Rice and lentils and stale bread with carefully doled out amounts of spice? It boarded on insanity. He ate three more bowls while they cleared the table.

"I'm going to bed," he announced, then slipped away. Barton put on the kettle.

Stark sighed. "Well, from what I've seen he's handling this about as well as his fellow battle buddies."

"That well, huh?" Natasha pulled a bottle of scotch from the bag of potatoes. They each got a finger and sipped it.

"How's married life?" Tony asked. 

"Alright." Barton ran a finger along the edge of the table. "You? Single life?"

Stark's smile was all teeth. "I'm officially a widower." He knocked back the rest of his drink. "Plus with what Rogers gets up to at night, wouldn't be good for the ladies."

Tasha cocked her head. 

"He screams in his sleep. Takes ages to wake him up. I'm lucky he's not violent or I'd be put through the window more then once."

"He's not the only one." Natasha swirls her drink. "I'm helping with night classes. They're all damaged. And these are the ones they let back."

Barton took a sip. "Has Steve been going?" 

"He has an eighth grade education. S.H.I.E.L.D. was sending him audio files under the pretense that he missed talk radio, but the fact is he can't read at that level." While she talked he poured some hot water into a bowl and set it on the table.

Stark snorted a laugh. "Guess the serum didn't work that well."

"It works fine. He can remember what he reads - so what? That doesn't replace learning, especially if he has no context for it."

Clint put his hands into the bowl. It soothed the cramping a little.

"I'm sorry I didn't pay attention in biology."

Barton shrugged. "Not your focus. Don't worry about it."

Tasha gently moved each finger. It hurt like they were thawing.

 

* * *

then

* * *

 

Natasha stole clothes from a church. They huddled around a trashcan. She lit the contents on fire and tossed their clothes in. Stark had managed to scrape the knees off his pants climbing the wall.

"Get changed." 

Her dress was nice and Clint fumbled with the buttons of his fly. Tony was holding his shoes in one hand, his phone in the other. They looked alien under the suffused yellow lights. A small group staggered loudly part.

"Does it work?"

"No, Barton, I didn't pay for interdenominational calls."

"We're still on Earth," Natasha said. She started poking pins into her hair. "As far as I can tell."

"True. Time travel is what S.H. thought."

"Who?" Barton rubbed the mic on his left aid. It was still working.

"Hawking. We go way back."

Natasha pulled on a heavy coat. The misting rain made her look haggard. "We need to get a place to stay for the night."

"I have three hundred dollars." Tony offered.

Clint kicked at a paper in the gutter. "Doubt it'll be any use here. It's 46."

Stark sniffed. "It's at least thirty."

"Nineteen forty six."

Natasha looked down at the smeared newsprint. 

"I'll get the money."

"Are you going to shakedown a newsie?" Stark ended up tucking his phone away and slipping his shoes on. At least they were dress shoes, slick looking Oxfords with a layer of grime.

"Nothing so drastic." She smoothed down the front of her blouse. "Wait here."

They stayed close to the fire. Something that sounded like a small train rumbled nearby. 

"Time travel." Barton clapped his hands together. "Whould've thought?"

"It's always been a possibility. Like aliens." 

"Like aliens."

"Sure. The Fermi Paradox, the old  _where is everybody_  question had two answers, really - either humans were too underdeveloped or too dangerous."

"Guess it was the former."

Stark chucked. "We are not dangerous enough, I'll give you that."


	4. Chapter 4

They didn't mean to find them was the thing.

Romanoff had gone off with her work friends so he and Barton were trying to get back to the third floor closet her shared with Rogers. Tony had followed an enthusiastic Barton down a shortcut that ended up taking an extra thirty minutes. The shadows were deep around them and ahead a couple of men were leaning against a wall smoking. The pulled down caps kept their eyes hidden. They were thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder with an easy physicality that made Tony uncomfortable. His parents had never been the most affectionate. Sure, his mother was quick with a hug or a kind word or just looking at his the right way. She would sigh down the phone line, back when you still had to pay out the ads for long distance, that his father was ground of him but he's busy, you know what he gets like. Becuse Tony ended up just like Howard in all the ways that mattered. What a fucking cosmic joke.

And speaking of jokes he and Barton had just caught another. Rogers and the Russa House swapping a smoke. It took a moment to clock them because Barnes had shaved and Rogers was slouching, shoulders hunched and curved inwards. The whole alley stunk of cat piss and garbage.

"Is... Is that weed?" Barton sounded concerned.

  
Rogers blinked at them heavly. His eyes were bloodshot and in one hand he fiddled with the hem of his shirt. The other was casually moving Barnes' metal fingers. Barnes paused then held out the smoke.

"I'm fine." Barton said.

When Barens looked at him Tony shook his head. "I'm sober." It came out less bitter then he expected.

Rogers was already preoccupied with the fingers again. He hummed tunelessly to himself as he moved them.

"We were just heading home." Barton eventually offered. "Want to have some dinner?"

Barnes finally looked engaged. "Sure." For the greatest death machine ever made - after the A Bomb - he sounded surprisingly normal. Tony cooled his nerves by taking extra care to grind out the butt. It gave him a small measure of satisfaction.

They didn't keep drinks in the apartment. Well, he and Rogers didn't. Romanoff kept moving her vodka bottle around like she was playing hide and seek from the rats that lived in the walls. Barnes seemed calm enough. He had a twisted flat expression but keen eyes. Rogers was blitzed.

Did they even have that expression now? Tony wasn't sure. He doled out the oatmeal and tried not to watch the men fall on it. He had always hated it, the color and especially the texture.

Every day Rogers made a few gallons with and would slowly eat the entire thing even day. The smell would be enough to kill Tony. Whne he got back to the future he would never eat another spoonful of it. 

Rogers was eating it like it was the first meal he'd seen in days. There was a sheen of grease in his air and Tony was reminded they hadn't bathed last next. Rogers had gone to rest his head for a moment and it culmanted with him crying on the fire escape and Tony sitting by the radio and pretending not to listen. 

"Hungry?" Barnes sounded amused. There was something fond in the way he looked at Rogers. 

Rogers looked at him for a second. He seemed to blink for ages. "Not really," as he shoved a spoon into his mouth. He blinked again and looked down. He seemed confused. He set the spoon the the table.

Barnes tapped his chin, tilted his head so Rogers looked him in the eye; "Here's looking at you kid," and sure Tony knew about the movie, he knew about the line, but he had never got around to seeing it so he didn't choke on his food like Barton did. He coughed like he was dying.

Rogeres leaned back sharply. "Thanks, Buck."

"No problem." He had a killer smile. Tony wondered if he really had all his teeth. They didn't grow back the same way bones did after you broke them. He knew Rogers was missing at least three. It was the sort of thing one picked up from just breathing next to Phil Coulson for too long.

God, they were all dying at this rate - Coulson and Fury and the whole SHIELD thing and the Vice President and Pepper... Pepper. What he wouldn't give to see her again.


End file.
